Damascus - the rest of Christmas

December 26th - December 30th

... I am walking to the tourist police-station with Ammar. After this I am heading off to meet Marcus to get a taxi to San Maria bus station. From here we are departing the country once again, this time to a new destination. Ammar is also leaving to, finally off to Baghdad in a couple of days. He is very happy to be going home. We are shortly going to say good-bye. I hope one day I can catch him in Baghdad; or for him to visit England. Right now though, we are discussing a Satanist cult in Northern Iraq...

We spent a very chilled Christmas week in Damascus. We had the run of Rach's flat as she was moving to a new place and there was an overlap on the old one. Marcus was ill again and was pretty much laid up for the whole period. Leah decided to travel around Syria and explore the North and East. Nat planned to meet her later in the week and was enjoying chilling in Damascus: Nat works in Lebanon, in Beirut. She much prefers Syria and relishes an opportunity to get over to Damascus. I was enjoying spending time with the girls, and simply doing absolutely nothing for a change; well less than usual anyways.

... We are round at Rach's new place, christening it by cooking again. It is a lovely two-bedroom condo. It is very spacious with a very high ceiling. Rach has got a new paraffin cooker. Unfortunately it is not working properly and the whole flat is filled with the smell of paraffin. I think we are all getting high off of the fumes...

Natalie headed off north to Hamas to meet Leah. She was planning on coming back to see Rachel for New Year in Palmyra. Rach was working and was pretty busy. Marcus finally recovered and we both decided that we were going to head to Lebanon for New Year. We had been debating it for the last month and we had kept on putting it off as the last president, Pro-Syrian Emile Lahoud, stepped down and left the country in a political limbo. To boot, just before Christmas the armies head of operations, Gen Francois al-Hajj, was assassinated. The elections still stand in deadlock. We decided, on reflection, this wasn't going to change anytime soon. So we thought we'd give it a go. Also we had got to know Natalie, who is working there, very well. She said it would be fine and even offered us the use of her flat. So it was decided. Next stop, Beirut. It was also decided we were not going to tell our parents until we got back. They'd only worry.

... It is November the 15th and I am in Aleppo, Syria. I am on the phone to my Dad on Skype. I am wishing him a happy birthday. It is a warm day and the windows are open. Below in the street the denizens of Aleppo are busy driving me insane with their horn-beeping.
"So where are you off to next?" My Dad is asking me.
"Mmmm... East for a week or two." I am being a little cagey here.
"East? Is there a lot in the East of Syria?". I am a little reluctant to tell him we are heading to Dura Europos and Mari. 30km from the border of Iraq.
"Yeah, there are some archaeological sites to see. by the Euphrates..." He can probably hear me wincing.
"Isn't that near the Iraqii border?".
"Yeah, kinda." I explain that there is very little danger and the Middle East is far safer than you realise once you get here. The people are warm and friendly and the minority factions that are targeting foreign tourists are very few. In fact, you are just as likely (or unlikely) to have the same problem in the UK. "All the same, you'd better not mention it to Mum just yet. She'll only worry. I'll tell her when I get back."
"Just take care, ok?"
"Always! Happy Birthday!" I hang up. Well try to - the Skype connection doesn't quit properly and I hear him give a big sigh:
"Number 1 son"...

Maalula/Damascus Christmas day

Merry Christmas!!!

Peace on earth and goodwill to all. Christmas morning and a 6am start. There was certainly a lot peace, not too mention quiet, in Damascus this morning. The streets were deserted. It was a crisp clear morning with the sun just beginning to break in the east as we left the house. Nat and Rach are very keen walkers. So we decided to walk down to Bab Touma - from where we were to get the bus to Maalula.

... Nat and Rach are marching on ahead of us in double quick-time. Marcus, Leah, and myself are ambling behind. I am still waking up and I have eggnog on my brain. It feels like it is seeping down behind my eyeballs, into my mouth, and hanging off of my larynx, reverberating along my epiglottis as I speak. Yes. I am hungover. The streets are quiet and peaceful. We are discussing how safe it feels to travel in a Muslim country. It really makes so much difference. Leah especially notices this being a woman and traveling alone. I am beginning to realise the key to this is the way religion is Incorporated into every day life. A mosque is usually found in the centre of every community. Most certainly at the centre of every Souq. People don't ignore their spiritual development, they live it. They breathe it. It is as natural a part of their lives as shopping, eating, socialising. I can see more and more why many Imams and clerics are more than a little hesitant and have such misgivings towards the integration of our western culture in Muslim countries. One hundred years ago many places in England, Ireland, the US, still would have treated our modern, hedonistic, culture in the same way. On reflection, some places still do. Here in the west we have only recently embraced a secular way of life, and although it gives us much greater perceived emancipation, it leaves many people with a huge spiritual gap in their lives; the balance is rarely struck well. We are discussing this as we saunter down Shia Bakistan. Nat and Rach are rapidly becoming small ants in the distance. Leah and Marcus stop to take a picture of a mosque framed against the moon...

We took a bus north from Damascus into the mountains to Maalula. It was a lovely drive, but I was dozing for most of it. There was quite an eclectic mix of people from all walks of life on the bus, today, all with intention to visit a Greek Catholic St Sergius Monastery for Christmas mass spoken in Aramaic. Maalula means entrance in Arabic. You can understand why when you come in sight of the village nestled in the sides of a sheer rock gorge. It is very beautiful. It has a population of only around 2000 people. There are also steady streams of pilgrims from all over the world. that come to this place. It is predominately a Christian village, however people from all creeds come here to be blessed. There are two ancient places of worship here. Mar Sarkis and Mar Taqla. We had arranged to visit the mass in Mar Sarkis (St Sergius). The church (and monastery) itself was a very quaint and very old building. The entrance to the chapel was the height of a small child so you had to bend over double to get in [we later found the reason for this is two-fold: firstly to ensure it is a penitent man who enters the church, and second to stop large amounts of crowds/soldiers entering the church at the same time]. We arrived just as the mass was starting. It was a beautiful service and, for almost the entirety of it, it was sung in Arabic. [unfortunately the priest who gave the Aramaic service was away on holiday!!]. It was a great way to start Christmas morning and the parishioners and the priest were very welcoming to the throng of strangers that had descended on the church for the day.

... we are standing chatting to one of the parishioners, a very serene and very beautiful Syrian girl. She is giving us a tour of the Chapel. There are some amazing Iconic representations on the walls that are very different to standard Christian art. Each picture is emboldened with gold. There is a last supper depiction with Jesus on the left of the table, and all his disciples on the right. He is washing one of their feet. There are depictions of St George, and St Sergius. The girl explains that all iconic representation use the same face and expression. She takes us into the Tabernacle area, and we crowd around the alter. I notice it is a funny shape - a semi-circle rather than a rectangle. She explains that the Church was built on an older pagan place of worship. The original alter was used in the new Christian place of worship. Practicalities! We then finish the tour and she bids us all to be seated in the chapel once more, as she recites for us the Lord's prayer in Aramaic...

We enjoyed a very uplifting ceremony and were very warmly welcomed. The priest translated some of the liturgy readings for us into English and also the essence of the sermon. Afterwards we were given a tour of the Church by one of the parishioners. She then recited the Lord's Prayer in Aramaic for us. It was quite sublime.

We came out of the Church to find a souvenir shop in the grounds of the monastery. We were told inside about this and promised a free thimble of local Maalulan wine - pretty shrewd marketing I thought: ply them with booze and then sell sell sell! Upon entering the shop we were, as promised, given a free cup of wine. Then as if by magic the shop-keeper (aka the priest) appeared and proceeded to pitch his wares. It was all good fun and we each bought some trinkets.

From here we explored the canyon and gorge south of the village. It was reminiscent of the Al Siq in Petra. A natural cleft in the rock caused by an Earthquake [and one woven into a local legend. It actually lends its name to the second monastery: Mar Taqla - St Taqla. She was a daughter of a Seleucid princess. She was also a pupil of St Paul. She was being pursued by her father's troops (a little odd this I though) for her faith. She ran into the mountains and prayed to God to grant her safe passage, and lo the mountain split asunder granting her means of escape].

From here we nipped back into town to get the bus. Rachel and I picked up a whole bunch of Lafa bread from a local guy, I think he was a Druze, who we took our picture with and then promised him we'd send him a copy of them. He made some damn good bread. Before getting on the bus Marcus, Leah, and I also managed to pick up some local Maalulan wine for later on.

... I am in Rachel's kitchen and I am cooking with Marcus. Rach and Nat are also both cooking. Afterward Rach will maintain that we cooked, but as always, everyone pitches in and does an equal share. This is what cooking is all about: Preperation, coordination, timing. The fun part is orchestrating it all. I rarely get bogged down with recipes and measures. They are usually just guidelines. Once you get the gist of the dish you can cook it in any variation you wish. When you cook for a dinner party the main thing to do is get the timing right. To know when to start which dish and be aware of space available in the oven and suchlike. Marcus is making pan fried tomatoes with pine nuts and garlic. We have already done the chicken casserole, the pan-fried chicken breast with potato slices and veg, roasted in sauce. The potato salad is also done. We've cheated and bought fresh moutable and hummus. We also made yoghurt garlic, and mint dip and Nat made a fantastic dahl the night before. I am currently trying to make stuffed aubergines with halloumi cheese as a vegetarian main. I am trying to scoop out the aubergine and add in the onions, pine-nuts, garlic, spinach, and peppers I have pan-fried. Everyone has wine on the go. The kitchen is in complete disarray, but the food is starting to to churn out. The guests are also starting to arrive. Rach comes in from the shop with yet another last minute order for food we have run out of. I go to check take out the roast chicken and realise I have miscalculated by an hour, black smoke is billowing out of the oven...

We spent a fantastic Christmas day cooking, drinking, and making merry back at Rach's place. A whole bunch of friends came over, some of whom we knew, some we didn't. As usual there was more food than you could shake a stick at, and plenty more was brought along by guests including those delicious bailey's balls again and a equally delicious apple-crumble, cooked by Adele, (that I poured baileys all over as a custard substitute. Ohmygod! Try it sometime!). We sat around and chatted for most of the early evening, until the guests slowly disappeared home and we all lay stuffed on the sofas. I spoke to my family in the day and Merryl in the evening, thanking her for her lovely presents and then fell asleep, a happy man.

Christmas Eve in Damascus

December 23rd -24th

Back in Damascus. Back in Souq Saroujah. Back in El-Haremein. We got a shared taxi from Amman with a Spanish Journalist and an Iraqii student, studying at Damascus University. It was a lovely day to travel. Il fait beau; pleasant but not too warm. We had terrible hangovers though.

The border crossing was no problem. Just the mandatory information card you always have to fill in and get stamped at the Syrian border. We checked into El-Haremein and flopped. The rest of the day was spent dicking around online and grabbing some food. We had arranged to meet Rachel and her friend Natalie Christmas eve, in Souq Saroujah. That night I took myself to bed at a much needed early hour.

... It's Christmas eve night and we are all going to a party in the Christian quarter near Bab Touma. We caught a cab but decided to get out and walk the last 1/2 mile as Damascus is gridlocked, because I haven't been subjected to the usual, relentless, advertising and force-fed incessant consumerism through every available medium, I am feeling quite Christmassy. As we walk through the suburbs of the Christian area of Damascus I notice for the first time that white Christmas lights are everywhere. Hanging from the houses, flats, and windows like incandescent snow flakes. They are not akin to the uber-gaudy festive light displays you get in the UK. The ones that do grievous olfactory harm to one's eyeballs (not to mention peoples electricity bills). Instead these are elegant and so much more evocative for it. A group of people approach from out of nowhere singing. One is dressed as Father Christmas and is ringing a brass bell...

Christmas eve, morning
At breakfast we met a woman we'd sat with in Amman, both taking photos of the budding Jordanian teeny-boppers in the citadel. She was living in Egypt with her boyfriend but here in Damascus for Christmas. We also met a guy who knew Rachel and Natalie. We all went to meet Rachel and her Natalie for breakfast. Rach kindly offered to let us stay at her flat for Christmas. We took her up on the offer and spent the next week there.

We also discovered that the drunken promise made by us, nearly a month ago in a restaurant in the old citadel, was to be honoured. We were requested to cook for twelve people the next day. To be honest I was quite happy about this. I love cooking and hadn't done any for a while, and besides, I was dying to try out these Jordanian recipes.

We lugged our backpacks up to Rachel's flat and then met up with Natalie and her friend Leah. We sat down and had a chat about our Christmas plans. Party for Christmas eve, and then 6am Christmas day a bunch of Rach's friends had hired out a bus to take them to Christmas mass in Maalula. Then the Christmas dinner extravaganza - cooked by none other than the Chuckle Brothers. It was going to be fun. The rest of Christmas eve involved us running around getting last minute presents, deciding on a menu for the next day and then gaging the food needed for the amounts. Cooking for twelve or so people is an entirely different concept then cooking a meal for two. You can't just scale up everything - not when you don't have enough pots for starters. You just have to be creative.

... It is Christmas morning - around 7am. We are winding our way up into the mountains in a UN bus. There is a hotchpotch of people on this trip. Myself, Marcus, Rachel, Natalie, Leah, many of Rach's work colleagues and friends. Two or three people that were staying in the El-Haremein, a guy who has been walking from Canterbury to Jerusalem, an English guy who speaks fluent and who is studying the Quran in Damascus. A Swiss guy, shortly off to Yemen... the list goes on. We are heading for the village of Maalula. The main religion there is Greek Orthodox Christianity. The mass is being said this morning in Aramaic, the language of the people of Christ's time. As we approach the village nestled high in the mountains, the sun is beginning to gain height in the sky and firing the sandstone rock formations gold against the blue. There is fresh snow lying everywhere. It's amazing where you find yourself sometimes...

We procured a lot of food. Fortunately Rach's place had a grocers and butchers next door to it. We also headed out down to the old city. Rach wanted to pick up a couple of presents and I wanted to get something else for Marcus. Neither of us were successful in our endeavours. There was another reason though. Marcus and I needed to take a short detour to catch up with an old friend.

... We have just popped into Ammar's hotel. He is out and about. I don't blame him to be honest: It's freezing in the foyer and the landlord looks about as much fun as herpes. I leave a note Ammar explaining we are back in Damascus and asking him to contact us. We head out into Straight St, which is still turned upside down and inside out. As we negotiate the rubble I hear a shout and looking up, I spot a familiar, welcome, face...

We nearly missed Ammar, who was not at his hotel. We left a message for him but perchance we bumped into him as we were leaving. He invited us in and we took tea in his room. It was bloody freezing. He gave us green tea and biscuits and made Marcus wear a big coat as he was looking ill again. Marcus wasn't to realise this yet, but his immune system took some punishment from the course of Norophlaxin he'd just taken. After Christmas day, he is going to ill for some time. It was great to catch up with Ammar. He was planning to go home to Baghdad finally! After Christmas in the New Year. I was very happy for him, if not a little worried. Per had left to spend Christmas, with his daughter, in Cuba.

We said our goodbyes to Ammar, we arranged to meet him over Christmas. Then we headed off, back to Rach's flat. We had more food to pick up and to get ready for the party that night.

The party was at a friend of Rach's, Darren, and was at his house near Bab Touma. It was a very chilled night. Everyone was in a great festive mood. There was a veritable banquet laid out for us, including bailey's coconut balls and eggnog! God that stuff is potent.

... We are all on the rooftop of Darren's building. It is 11-a-something a clock. We are all pretty merry. We have come up to catch a view of Damascus on Christmas night. It is quite beautiful. White Christmas lights adorn all the surrounding houses and buildings. In the distance Jebel Qassioun looms over the city. The stars are out and shining brightly and the moon is waxing lyrical and nearly full. We are ducking under a myriad of satellite dishes and falling over cables, trying to get together for a Christmas photo. Some idiot has given me the camera..

We headed back to the flat late that night and had the bright idea of starting to cook. We managed to put together a reasonable salad, tzatziki, and whipped mashed potato with walnuts, garlic, onions, and yoghurt.

... it's feck o'clock in the morning, Christmas day, we have decided to start cooking. Actually , to be specific, we started on the vodka and baileys, and then we started cooking. We are going quite a good job. Unfortunately, unbeknownest to us, we have left the drinking water tap on and positioned on top of a chopping board. After we are to crash out later the water will kick in and start to flood the kitchen. Lucky Rach and Nat are early birds...

The rest of Jordan

Thursday 20th of December - Sunday 23rd December.

We left the desert at sunrise the next morning. We got a lift back to to Rum village. Merryl was in the front. Marcus and I were freezing in the back. From here we got a taxi to Aqabar. We spent two nights here. Aqabar is an ok place. It is a fantastic location for swimming in the Red Sea. It also is the main ferry port between Jordan and Egypt. Unfortunately in the winter there is not much going on. We spent a peaceful couple of days here. The first day we generally did nothing but lay around. In the evening we went out to the Rover's Return - yup we are that sad. From there we went to the Fun Bar for happy hour. This turned out to be about as much fun as removing one's own finger nails. In fact the only people having fun - and pretty much the only people in the bar - were us. The band were diabolical. I suppose that was a novelty in itself. The second day we tried to visit the beach but it turned out to be like sawf-end on a good day. Marcus was becoming ill once again with stomach problems so we ended up heading back to the hotel early that afternoon. We had originally planned to go take a little joint into the Palestine territories but we decided against it, as we couldn't afford to have an Israeli stamp on our passports. [if you have an Israeli stamp on your passport you are immediately refused entry into any of Arab League of Nations countries - Syria, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Iran, Indonesia, and so forth. There are ways around it, but not without risk] So after another quiet night in Aqabar we took a bus back to Amman. We two nights remaining. Then Merryl was to fly home for Christmas and Marcus and I were to head back to Damascus.

... Merryl and I are standing at the place where Jesus was Baptised by John the Baptist: Bethany-Beyond-The-Jordan. It is a warm, winter''s morning. We are in a tour group with a number of other people: Pigrim's of sorts - making their way to this holy place. Three the tour group are a family. One of the children is paraplegic. We are standing at an open air baptismal font. Armed guards stand on either side of it. 20 metres away acroos the reeds on the other bank is Israel. The whole scene is more than a little surreal. Merryl and I take turns snapping each other with the Star of David behind us, fluttering gently in the breeze...

We met Natasha for the last time at the Aqabar bus station. She was flying from Amman that day. We said our good-byes when we got to Ammar and the three of us got a taxi to the now famaliar sight of the Palace Hotel. We checked in and spent the evening chilling out - Marcus was still unwell and on a course of Nophraphlaxin again. Merryl and I arranged to go to Bethany Beyond the Jordan the next day, as a last trip, to see the place where Jesus was Baptised. It was a pleasant enough last day out. Merryl booked herself a last massage in the afternoon. For our last night, I devised a little Christmas game in which each of us had to choose, and research, a character from history and play the part during our last meal that evening. I sent them formal requests explaining the rules. I also booked a table at a popular Arabic restaurant. Things didn't turn out quite how we expected though.

... We are sitting at a table in the Fahkr el Din. We are running slightly behind our planned schedule. Marcus is supposed to be meeting a friend for drinks about 1/2 an hour ago. We spent over 45mins trying to get a cab and get to the place. We then discovered it was the most popular restaurant in Amman. It is rammed. We have had to wait another 30 mins for a table to become free. During which most of the time has been spent helping a five year old kid who repeatedly keeps putting the wrong size money in the bubble-gum machine in the foyer. We are all in character for this evening's game. Merryl has her long hair pinned up in a severe fashion, and is wearing a pair of very prim glasses. She has had very little time to prepare so is using notes. Marcus and I have no props, although I do have a very silly French accent. We are taking turns to ask each other questions. We have, as per usual, ordered way too much food. We haven't figured it out each other's characters and it will take quite a while, but Merryl is Beatrix Potter, Marcus is W B Yeats, and I am the Marquis De Sade. Marcus will guess my identity, as I will his. But it will take us quite a while to figure Merryl's out. Marcus is asking me why I has to leave France so suddenly, as I was exiled to Spain at one point in my life. I am trying to discreetly explain that it involved my man-servant and reported case of sodomy...

We finally finished the meal, much later than we planed, and headed back to Jebel Amman, where Marcus was to meet his friend, Atilla, whom he had met in Egypt a couple of years ago, for a drink. Merryl and I stopped in for a quick hello then headed off. Merryl had to fly early in the morning.

We got up early on Saturday the 22nd and Merryl and I took a taxi to the airport. We got there with no mishap and grabbed breakfast before saying our good-byes.

... Merryl and I are grabbing breakfast in the airport. She has a whopping great latte. I am making do with a small one as caffeine gives my body the same energy as nuclear fission does a country. We are chatting about nothing in particular as we are both trying to put off the fact she has to check in in 10 minutes. It will be three months or so until we see each other again. We are both steeling ourselves as we realize this will never get any easier...

I headed back to Amman and Met Marcus. We went for lunch in Books@Cafe and accidentally had an all day session. So ended our last day in Jordan. I really have enjoyed my time here. I've found it a great country, very open and friendly. I still marvel at how it has managed to reamain on friendly terms with Israel, Syria, Iraq, and still maintained such good relations with the West. It has so many wonderful places to see, not least of which is Petra. I would like to come back here in the summer and do some more hiking. In fact, I think I will.

Wadi Ramm and Bad Bob

Wednesday, December 19th


... I am sitting atop of Ronnie. Ronnie is tethered to Bob, who is being ridden by Marcus. Merryl is at the front of the troupe atop of her camel. She has neglected to name her mount, but we will find out a little later his name is Satang. I am doing my best to stay away from Bob as he is psychotic. He has already tried to bite Satang. He is currently screaming in Merryl's face. I have never seen a camel with anger management problems before. I am quite interested to see what he is going to do next. Our guide ushers our camels to their feet. They unfold like giant robotic creatures out of a sci-fi film, their double jointed knees extending and locking, propelling us into the air first forward and then counter-balancing as the rear catches up. Bob makes a swipe at a root in the sand and misses it completely as he is tethered to Ronnie. He turns around a roars in Ronnie's, and my, face. His breath could strip car primer. It is going to be a long day...

Today we took did a camel trek around the Wadi. Firstly we got a lift in a 4x4 to the little bridge. This is another natural bridge rock formation, in the shadow of the Jabal Khazali. The view, like every thing else in the Wadi, was superb. We climbed to the top and looked around and marvelled at the peace and majesty of the wadi. From here we met our guide and started our camel trek. We each had a camel. Marcus and I decided to name our camels. I was going to call mine Philippa, after an ex-girlfriend of mine, but on reflection my camel was actually quite cute-looking and friendly thing. So I decided to name it Ronnie. Marcus called his Bob. Our camels were tethered together in a queue. Merryl at the front, myself in the middle and myself taking the rear. This arrangement didn't last too long unfortunately as Bob turned out to be a psychotic dromedary. He attacked Satang and tried to bite Ronnie. Like all good owners - and parents for that matter - Marcus was under the delusion that Bob was just misunderstood. Merryl and I were under no such illusions. Bob was mad, bad, and dangerous to be within two metres of. Imagine my joy then, when our guide decided to tether him in the middle to try and help him behave himself.

... Marcus and I have got ourselves into a bit of a fix. We have climbed up into Khazali canyon. It is quite a stretch up into the narrow siq that leads deep into the crevasse of the Jabal. After realising we can go no further we decide to climb back down. This proves to be little more difficult than we anticipated. Currently I am hanging 20 odd feet in the air, suspended over some very painful looking rocks. Beneath us a group of tourists are desperately trying to negotiate foot, and hand, -holds for us. I have managed to get myself into a stable position but I am very tired. Marcus is five feet above me and trying to get through the narrow gap backwards. "Just put your hand here. Then your foot here. If you fall I've got you." I tell him. I don't know how I plan to achieve this statement because if he falls on me I am going to probably lose my grip also. He is sweating profusely and things are not looking good...


We trekked on with our camels chilled, deranged, and nonchalant, respectively through the morning desert sun. following the outside of Khar EL Arjarm. At this point, Bob had got so rowdy he had to have his mouth tied shut. Marcus looked like an unhappy parent. Merryl and I breathed several sighs of relief. We headed onward from here to the mountain - Khazali. Our guide left us to explore the natural tourist attraction Khazali canyon whilst he made lunch. The canyon was very beautiful and good fun to climb in. Marcus and I got a bit too adventurous though and climbed up a rock face and got stuck coming back down. We eventually managed it, thanks to some helpful Italian tourists but we were left shaked and absolutely knackered by the time we got down.

After lunch we stopped at another very large sand-dune and met Natasha doing her own camel trek. Marcus and I climbed the dune whilst Natasha and Merryl chatted. From here we spent the rest of the afternoon trekking back to our sunset camp. Even Bob seemed to perk up a little and had his muzzle removed. The trek back was my favourite part of the day. Bob had stopped attacking everything and we plodded through the desert under the eternally watchful eyes of the surrounding Jabals. The desert was very peaceful and very solitary and I loved it. It brought to mind the Arabic saying I had read in Egypt - "The further you go into the desert, the closer you get to God." - although we were barely out of a hugely overrun tourist container, I did begin to understand the lure of the nomadic life of the Bedouin. Maybe one day I'll get to explore this properly.

We reached camp with an hour or so to go before sunset. We said good-bye to our steeds and our erstwhile guides and watched them ride off into the sunset. I was not sad to see Bob's, irate, bony arse diseappearing into the distance. But I did get rather fond of Ronnie. Merryl went up into the rocks to read, whilst Marcus and I caned a large amount of the vanilla vodka - we were still shaken by the climbing incident. The evening was a very quiet one compared to the night before. Marcus and Merryl played cards, and I read my book. Tomorrow we are off to Aqabar on the coast of the Red Sea.

Wadi Ramm day one

Tuesday 18th December,

We left Petra today with our hangovers and drove to the entrance of the Wadi Rum nature reserve. The reserve is located south of Petra just off of the end of the Dead Sea in the SW of Jordan. It is a massive desert area - the largest Wadi in Jordan - encompassing 720 square Km. It has long been an base for Bedouin tribes and has evidence of Nabatean settlements. It is perhaps most famously linked to T E Lawrance (aka Lawrence of Arabia) who used this as his operations base during the war to liberate and has some gorgeous geography, not least of which being its amazing vivid red rock and sand. In fact, the 2000 film - the Red Planet - was filmed here in an effort to recreate the look and feel of the surface of Mars.

We arrived around midday to find a very civilized visitor centre, with shops, panoramic viewing platforms, and all sorts of amenities. We took some time to look at the famous view of the Seven Pillars of Wisdom - a rock formation T E Lawrence dubbed thusly - and then hopped in our 4x4 and got a lift to the nearby town where we were to meet our guide. The town still reflects the nomadic lifestyle of Bedouin. The houses are very basic and you get the feeling they are just used as bases in the winter, or for families to stay in. Our host, Abdulla, took us inside his house and gave us the traditional sweet, black, herb-infused tea. The house was very brightly decorated and I loved the vivid colours of the paint and the carpets. We chatted about how Bedouins are fitting into Jordan's changing culture. Abdulla explained that the Bedouin find it hard to maintain many of their traditional customs because the government is now requiring them to have permanent accommodation in order to be eligible for schooling, benifits, tax, etc.

... It is mid January and I am walking along the corniche on the sea front in West Beirut. I am with my friend Natalie and her friend, Mohammed. The air is cold and crisp and the sky is clear. The Mediterranean laps against the shore and Beirut projects an air of tranquility. Mohammed is a Jordanian Bedouin. He has been living in Beirut for sometime. He is a contemporary theatrical director. He is currently just beginning a project that he is hoping to put on in Amman in April this year. He is very passionate about trying to change the beliefs and attitudes of his countries culture. "It is very difficult to try and get people to give up their old traditions. They cling to their old ways and vehemently reject change." I ask him if he thinks what he is doing is reaching people. He thinks it is, but change happens slowly. He is still receiving death threats for his efforts and his work. He is so passionate and he believes so much in what he is doing. I can't help thinking there should be more people in the world like this...

The itinerary for today was a jeep trip around several sites in Wadi Rum. We headed off from Rum village and drove to several sites - to T E Lawrence's house (well foundations) then onward through the shadow of Khar El Arjarm, through the wine soaked landscape, up into the Sand Dunes where we stopped to see the Alameleh inscriptions. This turned out basically to be Nabataen graffiti. We then stopped and climbed the mother of all sand dunes. It was quite a trek but was rewarded by the opportunity to run all the way down it. Which I did, with much alacrity - and nearly killed myself as I simply could not stop at the bottom. Marcus and Merryl elected to walk back down. After this we headed past the other side of the Seven Pillars of Wisdom and back down to stop for lunch. Lunch consisted of a lots of stuff in tins - pilchards, tuna, tomatoes, cheese, and hummus, with lafa bread. The Bedouin way of eating is very practical. It involves tearing your bread into small scoops and picking at your food with it. It works very well.

... I am running down the sand dune. It is a very large dune. Like everything else in the Wadi it is a deep, wine-soaked red, colour. Actually to say I am running is probably a bit of an innacurate description. I am trying to stop. I have been for over 100 metres. The end of the dune is approaching very fast and I can barely keep my legs on the ground to match my pace. There are a lot of rocks at the bottom. Naturally, I am screaming...

After lunch we drove through the Burdah valley and stopped at a large rock, which looked like an elephant, to try and climb it. The young Bedouin who was with us managed it no problem. The rest of us had no chance - despite our repeated attempts (although Marcus and Merryl cheated at the end and did a bunk up). From there we drove to the impressive natural Burdah Rock Bridge. We spent some time taking in the view and climbing around the rock formations. By this point it is nearly sunset and we headed back to the camp where we were staying for the next two nights.

... Another Wadi, another sunset - and what a beautiful one it is. Marcus, Merryl, and myself are sitting above our camp on the rocks and watching the sun turn Wadi Rum into a glass of Rioja as it sets behind Um Muqur. In a short while we will head down into the camp for dinner, which is being cooked over a massive fire in the hair-skin tent in the camp. But for now we are sitting captivated...

We got to the camp and went for a short walk before sunset. Then we sat and watched the sun go down over the camp. By this time dinner was nearly ready. We ate with our two guides, their funboy cousin with his Bedouin guitar, and a French guy who was staying with us that night. We did some singing and dancing and a good time was had by all. The temperature in the desert drops ridiculously at night, however. So going to the toilet was not much fun.

Cooking a la Petra

Monday 17th December - evening,

...We are well on our way through our second bottle of wine. My head is spinning from too much walking, too little sleep, too many viruses, too much sun, and too much alcohol, however, I am still having a lot of fun; we all are. We are on a cooking course with Natasha - the Belgium girl we met in Dana who is living in Kabul - and a French couple. I am chopping garlic and onion, Marcus is chopping tomatoes and Merryl is skinning Aubergines. God knows what the others are doing. I finish my garlic chopping duties at lightning speed. For my reward I am giving the privileged opportunity of reducing the tomato stock. Who cares though, I am onto a new glass of vino. Floydy eat your heart out!...

We had arranged the night before to take part in a cookery course that evening, at 8:30pm.

We got back to the hotel to find Natasha, the other traveller from Dana, staying there. She decided to come on the cooking course and gave us a lift into town. The cookery class was great fun. We met a French couple who were living in Yemen who gave us some great tips on travelling in the country. The chefs were really good and friendly and we had a great evening, drinking red wine and learning how to make hummous, moutable, oven roasted chicken and potato casserole, and several side dishes. We all managed really well despite being knackered and drinking far too much wine. At the end we were forced to eat what we cooked. This actually turned out to be very nice. We were all pleasantly shocked. Afterwards we were dragged upstairs to be sold some authentic Jordanian craftware; and suckers that we are we bought some. We got back and crashed. Tomorrow we leave for Wadi Rum.

Petra - The Rose coloured city day II

Monday 17 December,

We got up at – the reasonably sane hour this morning of - 9:30am. We decided to head into Petra by another route - Petra has several points of access. The Siq is the most famous and extravagant. But there are others. The Nabateans devised some very clever water management systems; not only to bring water into Petra but also to divert flash flooding that occurs in the area at certain times of the year. We entered via one of these channels dug to divert flash-flooding. It was quite a clamber into the city but really good fun.
We emerged into the now mid-morning sunshine, again completely gob-smacked by the sublime contrast of sand against rainbow rock against azure sky. This area of Petra was virtually free of tourists. We wandered around for an huor exploring caves. Unfortunately these were either blackened from camp-fires, or smelled of urine [every cave in Petra has a aromatic ambience of donkey piss]. We then climbed high into the cliff face of one of the central rock formations protruding from the north-east valley and found an amazing spot to sit and take lunch. We sat on the very edge of a sheer cliff face and lorded over the Nabatean city - dining like royalty on Nutella, honey, bananas, biscuits, goat's cheese, and lafa bread. We were the kings and queen of the ancient world, and below us in the colonnaded area of the Roman street, the denizens milled around. Unfortunately one of the noble lords made his sandwich far too large and dripped honey on his regal hiking boot.

After lunch we wondered down into the valley and hiked the rest of the way into the main area of Petra, passing on the way the beautiful House of Dorotheos and thus coming passed the exquisitely carved Tomb of Sextus Florentinus. This place is so beautiful. Unfortunately, Lords and Ladies of Petra though we were, we were pretty fecked by that point in time. Luckily we had seen just about everywhere; well with a few notable exceptions, one of them being the High Place of Sacrifice. Note the high part of the place's title. High in this case being a quaint euphemism for 'on top of a fecking mountain'. Merryl decided to opt out of this excursion. She obviously had understood the 'high' reference far better than Marcus and I. We left her at a cafe in the valley and went for our last, and short stroll, in Petra.

... Marcus and I are sitting on the edge of a cliff. A big one. Below us, far far below us, infinitesimally small dots mill around along the street of facades and down into the valley of the tombs. I am still panting from the arduous climb up and up to reach the place of high sacrifice. The sun is setting on my left, over Umm Al-Beyyara The air is cool; cooling me down. Jebel Al-Khubtha stretches out in front of me and behind it Wadi Musa and then more Jebels and Wadis stretching away into the distance to the dead sea and the Levant. I am completely absorbed and captivated by this incredible landscape - on fire under the sunset. It was well worth the climb. Far below I catch sight of a lone dot working their way up the street of facades. I remember a statement from my long suffering psychophysics lecturer, Ron Burnes - that a human eye can detect a naked flame 50 miles away. I can't confirm it is Merryl - but I know it is her - a feeling that is not so un-reminiscent of Walt Whitman's Ämong The Multitude...
We took a very leisurely stroll back through the Sic - mainly due to exhaustion. We stopped in the Cave Bar to look for Merryl, who had gone on ahead to rest for a while. It was a bit sad to say good-bye to this place. I wish I could have spent longer hiking around the city itself. However we had a rough itinerary to stick to, and we had half a mind to take a tour into the occupied territories of Palestine. So we decided to head to Wad-Rum the next day. Besides, we had a pressing gastronomic appointment to keep that evening.

Petra - The Rose coloured city

Sunday, 16th December.

It has always been a dream of mine to visit Petra. Ever since I was a child. I nearly made it five years ago when I was travelling around Egypt. I opted to do my PADI advanced diving course instead. I am glad I did: it was as cheap as chips and the Red Sea is reputed to be one of the best diving spots in the world. Now though, finally getting to see this amazing place - the ancient Rose City, the Nabatean gem of Jordan, and one of the recently voted Seven Wonders of the Modern world - is a dream come true for me. There is a lot to see in Petra. The place is a marvel, not just of ancient architecture, but one of geology. The rock formations themselves lent the term The Rose City to it. However this does the site little justice. It is far more than that. The entire landscape in which Petra sits is a gorgeous stratified myriad of pure technicolour. Each rock is a snapshot of swirling colours, as if a rainbow mist has been trapped and solidified in a vibrant canvas of reds, browns, golds, ochres, bronzes, azures, oranges, and yellows. Every five steps you just stop with your mouth open and gape in wonder. And this is even before you reach the Al-Siq, let alone the Treasury.

… We are walking through the Siq. Merryl and I are silently taking in the fantastic colours of the sandstone cliffs rising above us. As the Siq was formed when an earthquake rent the solid rock apart many of the vivid colours are the same height and pattern on each side. The floor is paved – from the time of Roman occupation – and along the wall of the Siq runs a water viaduct, for bringing aqua vitae to the Nabatean city. There are relatively few people in the tunnel. Firstly, as it is 7am, and secondly, December does tend to help stave off tourists. They will be here later, in tour buses aplenty, for now though, apart from a few other early birds, we have the place to ourselves. We continue to amble along, Marcus has gone on ahead and the winding, twisting Siq has swallowed him up. A sound from behind makes us turn: a horse-drawn carriage is rattling towards us, the clip-clop of hooves are abnormally enhanced within this natural echo chamber. We stand aside and let it trundle past; a scene that could be straight out of a classic English period adaptation - apart from we are in the Middle East. The horse looks to be well looked after, although the driver is carrying a whip. Two women sit in the back, one older, one younger. They look to be mother and daughter. Merryl is just further ahead of me. She turns and looks at me. “I’ve just caught a glimpse of the Treasury!” My stomach is doing cartwheels…

The Nabatean city of Petra is thought to have existed since time immemorial – that is to say there were settlements in Pe references in the Bible to Sela – which also means rock - but this could be confused with other cities in the region. The best reference as to its age seems to be from the eclectic architecture that was employed in the creation of the tombs [The city of Petra is, in the main, a huge necropolis. The Nabateans were early Bedouin, the were nomadic people, the grandiose monuments hewn out of the sandstone rock are mtra, pre-dating modern history. Petra is referred to in the Dead Sea Scrolls as Rekem. It is mentioned by name in the Old Testament, but this does not appear to be a definitive reference to the city. There areostly, but not all, tombs]. The style of the tombs range from Hellenic to Egyptian. There are also styles very similar to ancient Syrian and, of course, Roman settlements. Oh and the Crusaders also turned up; typical isn’t it? The styles, therefore, can be traced as far back as the 6th century BC at the earliest. This gives an approximate age of when the Nabateans first began to use the city. I am not going to bore myself, and add to your ennui, with a long-winded description of Petra’s history so the abridged version reads thus: Petra was essentially a Nabatean city, but looked to be under rule – or at least influence - from the Ptolomies and the Syrians until the Romans discovered and drew it into the Romana Arabia. During this period a large Roman city was built here and it prospered for a good couple of hundred years. Thus it remained until the Palmyra became the hotspot of trade and commerce. Then it slowly began to decline. After the fall of the Roman Empire and a major earthquake it fell into ruins although it did still have religious significance into the 4th Century BC. Fast forward about 500 hundred years and those old funboys the big Cs rocked up – probably killing everybody and boiling them in pots – and fortified and added to the architecture here and there. Arabic folklore suggests that this is spot where Moses struck his staff in the ground and brought forth water. The city had references to itself in Mediaval times as a place of interest and curiousity. From here it was lost to the world and faded into the history books as nothing more than a legend. The Bedouin always knew of its existence though, and protected it fiercely. And thus it stayed as a mystical city of legend for nearly a millenium until 1812 when Johann Ludwig Burckhardt, a young Swedish explorer travelling Arabia. came looking for ancient civilizations, heard tale of a hidden city of untold beauty, hitherto known only to the Bedouin. Burckhardt, dressed as a Arabic teacher of law and the Qur’an, asked passage to this place as a holy man coming to worship. I imagine he must have nearly creamed his pants when they first brought him through the Siq, and western eyes fell upon this place for the first time in nearly a thousand years.

… We are sitting atop of a mountain in Petra. It is the second day we have been here and we still are just brushing the surface of the place. Instead of coming through the Siq today we came via another route – through a series of flash flood tunnels, designed to divert flood, and heavy rain, water. We are on the cusp of a plateau jutting out over the path that leads down aside a rouge mountain face to the house of Dorotheus, and the tomb of Sextus Florentinus. The sun is high in the sky and we have stopped for lunch. We have decided to purchase our own packed lunch this time and have fresh banans, honey, large, flat, pancake bread, and nutella chocolate. We are all carefully making our sandwiches. The wind whips lightly around us and far below we can see the colonnaded street and Qasr Al-Bint with people milling about like ants. I am at peace. Marcus decides to put wrap his entire banana in his lafa bread, not before he covers the entire thing in honey. "That doesn't look like a good strategy," I remark.

"This is where its at!" He replies. Merryl and I exchange glances. I shrug and tuck into some of the fresh goat's cheese we have also bought. A bird is circling high above and the blue sky is cloudless and the sun is warm and the scenery is indescribably stunning. I look back at Marcus to see him take a huge bite out of his his sandwich. Honey pours from the bottom and drips all over his hands and his shoe. I take a photo for prosperity...

We wanted to see as much as Petra as possible so we got up at 6am. That was a shock to the system. The hotel offered free taxi rides at any hour so we were soon at the gates. It was freezing. I didn't care though. I was so excited I was hopping from foot to foot. We went into the city via the Al-Siq (the shaft) which is the ritual entrance to the city. You can see the remains of the Roman archway as you enter. The Siq is nearly a kilometre long and culminates at the entrance to the Treasury -or Al Khazneh. One of the most photographed places in the world. Especially if you catch it when the sun hits it and once thought to house the Pharoah's Treasure. This place was especially sacred to the Bedoiun, who fiercely protected it, indeed the whole of Petra, from the outside world. Some claim for spiritual reasons, however it is more likely they did not want people searching and discovering the legendary Pharaoh's Treasure. From the Treasury we walked down the Street of Facades, down past the amphitheatre, hewn out of the side of the mountain. From here we explored the Urn and the Silk Tomb, the Palace and the Corinthian Tomb. Before heading down into the colonnaded street to visit the Great temple, the Arch-Way, and Qasr Al-Bint - the castle of the Pharoah's daughter.

Once you get to the main valley of Petra you realise just how vast this place is. I believe that a mere 15% of Petra has been excavated. The extent of the tombs and buildings is mind-boggling. After taking lunch in the great temple, we then set off up again into the mountains to visit Al-Deir (The Monastry). Perhaps somewhat incorrectly named - as it was originally a Nabatean temple, the crosses etched into the bottom are what lent it its modern name. There are plenty of touts offering taxi-rides (donkeys) and after a forty-five minute walk uphill you realise why. It is knackering! We stopped on the way to view the Lion Temple and the Roman Soldier Tomb. I found myself the Al-Dier was even more impressive than the Treasury. Merryl took a break there and Marcus and I wondered up into the mountains further to explore the "View".

Once we had checked out the the mountain look-out points - and had what was purported to be the best cup of tea in the world - we started our long trek home. It was well over 5k back to the hotel and a good part of that was uphill. We neglected to take donkey or horse rides. Marcus and Merryl are both accomplished equestrians, but they both did not like the look of the treatment of the horses. It took us fecking ages to get back to the town of Wadi Mosa where we were staying. In fact so long, we had to stop off for food and beer in a pub on the way home. We also stopped by a restaurant and arranged to do a cooking course the next night. Then we went home and crashed.

Hiking in Dana Nature reserve and the first night in Petra

Saturday 15th December,

... Merryl, Marcus, and myself are sitting eating our lunch just above a small riverbed in Dana valley. We have been hiking since early morning and are now on the valley floor. The sun is lovely and warm and high in the sky. The valley is very peaceful. All around us are cliffs towering up with rock formations that are reminiscent of Cappodiccia. Birds, which Merryl says to look like vultures, are circling over the edges of the cliffs. We are tucking into our packed lunches. We are all debating the merits of our food. The lunch has a cold falafel, cake, fruits - a banana and an apple each - , biscuits, and a very, very manky carton of juice, cheese, butter, and jam. It also has an extra flatbread. This item of food is the topic of debate. Merryl and I are tearing our bread into portions, and making two or three sandwiches. Marcus, decides to make one big whopper of a sandwich...

We got up early this morning after a peaceful sleep. Merryl and I hired a heater for our room and we were very thankful for it. It's cold in dem dere hills. The Parle gene-pool is made of tough stock and we have an amazing ability to recuperate - so by the morning, although far from normal, I was much able to hike the 12km down to the valley lodge where we were to pick up our bags and meet our lift to Petra.

The valley hike was amazing. We were all given packed lunches by our kind hotelier. He walked us to the edge of the village and pointed out the route for us. From where we stood it was going to be a lovely hike, winding down, lazily into to the valley floor. We said our good-byes and headed off into the morning sunshine.

We walked all morning nibbling on biscuits and stopped for a late lunch around 1:30pm. We had completely misjudged our destination and turned up at the lodge around 2pm. We still thought we had another hour and a half to walk. So that was a bit of a shock.

... Our driver is winding his way up through the mountains. all around us are red-fired rock cliffs, and steep valleys fall on either side, vivid red in the afternoon sunshine. We are sitting in the back of the minibus and I am marvelling at how the driver is manging to keep the vehicle on the road. The route snakes precariously through the mountains. We are also giving a local Bedouin lad a lift home. We peel around a particularly steep cliff turn and our driver stops and puts the brakes on. He turns round and gestures to me to pull open the minibus sliding door with a conspirital grin. I reach over and comply with his request. Outside of the minibus door there is no floor but instead a sheer drop for hundreds of feet and the road we travelled up behind it falling away into red, red , sands that merge and become the Jordan desert, reaching out to a horizon miles away...

We met our lift and were taken through a particularly scenic route over the mountains and down into Petra on the other side. We also gave a lift home to a Bedouin guy who was at the reserve when we arrived. We rocked in at sunset and checked into a hotel called, quelle surprise, the Petra Hotel. It was a lovely place, not to mention cheap, and for the first time in nearly a month Merryl and I didn't have to push two beds together! Even though we were knackered we decided to head out and eat. We got recommended somewhere cheap and cheerful, which it was. We then went for a beer in a place by the start of Petra called the cave bar - this place, so the guide says, is a refurbished Nabatean tomb; some of the seats in the wall are actually where sarcophagi lay. We had little opportunity to marvel at this, however, as it was fecking freezing: It was, after all, a cave. So we sodded off home. Merryl crashed out and Marcus and I got drunk on Baileys and vanilla vodka and watched some tacky film on cable.

Tomorrow we are going to Petra.

... I am sitting cross-legged, with a group of friends, on a bunch of cushions on an expansive rug. Palm trees are all around us, and some of their roots make up natural chairs with arms. We are all singing "happy birthday to you" to Tracey. It is August 2002 and I am travelling around Egypt. I have hooked up with seven other people, two English Girls, two English brothers, and two Spanish girls. We are currently in Dahab, in the Sinai region of country, on the coast of the Red Sea - Literally, as we are sleeping in beach huts. Even at 10:30pm the air is humid and stifling. It blows off the desert like a hair-dryer is constantly blowing into your face. The firmament is spread out above our heads like a majestic tapestry from a Yeats poem. It is one of the English girls, Tracey's, birthday. We have clubbed together and got her a snorkel and asked the owner's of the campsite to make a birthday cake. This actually turns out to be a banana and chocolate crepe with candles and sparklers set into it. Someone has kindly written 'Hapy Day Tracey!!' on it. Across from where I am sitting I can see on the far shore the lights of Aqabar winking in the night. I am yearning to go and visit Jordan - and to Petra and I make a silent promise do just that...